


Despite Everything, Is It Still You?

by AngeliaDark



Series: Despite Everything [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universes, Bromalgamate, Despite Everything AU, GSans/GPapyrus, HorrorTale, The Cinnamon Roll Is Getting Burnt, Underfell, dusttale, underswap - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-05 11:12:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11576895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngeliaDark/pseuds/AngeliaDark
Summary: Papyrus has seen many universes.  He's relived his own countless times.  He's seen himself in so many different ways.  Who even is he anymore?  Continuation of Despite Everything, It's Still You.





	1. Prologue

_"There seems to be no point at all."_

**_You shouldn't say such things._ **

_"Why not?  It's true."_

**_There is always a point.  Always a reason._ **

_"I'm starting to doubt that."_

_**.....................** _

_"Ah....don't worry, it's nothing.  I'm fine."_

**_.........................._ **

**_.........................._ **

**_.........................._ **

_"....I'm fine."_

 

* * *

 

He WAS fine.  

Papyrus stepped out of the Void and into his bedroom, looking around at the juvenile decor that he had grown to love and hate for its innocence.  It was a source of familiar comfort for him, though.  Something to ground himself as a reminder of where he was, WHEN he was.  

Lying down on the soft warm comforter of his race car bed settled his nerve-wracked bones, making him itch for a nap but knowing the issues that would play out towards later.  He couldn't be seen NAPPING in the middle of day hours...not in this timeline at least.  The best he could do was afford himself a short rest before he had to get back to the script.

He turned and buried his face into the pillow, wishing for just an hour of reprieve, but duty called and it was not the time to skive, especially since he had no excuse in this timeline. He forced himself off of his bed and out of the room, his posture and expression flipping like a light switch to cheerful, enthusiastic, perky.

Papyrus.

“Good morning, Sans!” he chirped, fetching the milk from the fridge. Sans gave him a lazy grin tipping the coffee cup he was holding in greeting.

“Mornin', bro,” he replied. “Yer pretty gung-ho. Excited to catch a human?”

_ The same thing.  _

“Of COURSE I am, brother!” Papyrus replied with a huff as he poured himself a glass and drank it down.  "But what are you still doing here?  You're going to be late AGAIN, you lazybones!"

Sans laughed. “Ah, just slept in, you know me. But when you're right, you're right.” He stood up. “See you for lunch, right?” He winked and headed out with his coffee, closing the door behind him. As soon as he left, Papyrus deflated, putting the empty milk glass down on the counter.

_It was one of THOSE timelines._

Long ago, when he first felt something was wrong after his first conscious reset, he had theorized that his abilities had a detrimental effect on his universe's timelines. And he had been correct.

It was a glitch in the coding. It had to be. There were timelines where he would wake up and have to go through every motion, alone. But there were some timelines, like the one two timelines after Papyrus's first conscious reset, that Sans was aware of everything, even timelines when he WASN'T.

It was entirely random, and unavoidable. The day of the first glitch, Papyrus had returned from Swap and explained everything to Sans. He took in his brother's expressions, ranging from confusion to incredulous to accepting, and at the end of it all, the brothers held each other in understanding. Sans had vowed to help Papyrus out however he could, and they would make it through this together.

But the next reset happened. And Sans had no recollection. Papyrus had to explain it all again. Vows were made.

The next reset happened. Sans had no recollection. Papyrus couldn't bring himself to do it again, and was numb through the entire timeline.

The next reset happened. Sans burst into his bedroom before the alarm clock went off with exclamations of remembering the past three resets.

Most of the day was spent dealing with Sans's discombobulated recollection of what happened when he DIDN'T recall anything. But it was managed and the vow was renewed to stick through it together.

And it held strong...until a three resets later when Sans once again glitched into remembering nothing but his own recurring hell of timelines.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't FAIR that Papyrus had to deal with these glitches in his universe and suffer alone when Sans recalled nothing. The best he could do at those times was ease Sans's burden even a little by going by the script.

They came up with a system in time; for the timelines Sans had a recollection reset, after Papyrus gave his morning greeting, Sans would say _“I made coffee, would you like some?”_. Which Papyrus WOULD; sometimes, Papyrus needed something stronger than milk to get through the morning of a reset. And they would get through that timeline together.

Today? Not one of those timelines.

Just another script to follow and see how it would play out.

But he could do it. He'd done it before countless times now.

_'I'm fine.'_

.

.

.

.

“I see you are approaching. Are you offering a hug of acceptance? Wowie, my lessons are already working! I, Papyrus, welcome you with open arms!”

He was so used to this now, he was able to say it without his voice shaking. He was almost proud of himself, but having his head cut off by someone he regarded as a friend overwhelmed his pride with an agony he had to endure once again.

So much so that his usual parting words were weak and thick, and he allowed them to be muffled by his snow-and-dust-covered scarf.

“......you can do a little better.”

.

.

.

He stared into the Void between timelines, feeling almost as empty as the subspace of nonexistence he was in. A blanket of darkness curled around him, and the feather-light caress of a spindly skeletal hand on his skull was hardly registered through recollecting himself from being dusted in pieces, yet again.

**It will be finished soon.**

“....I know.”

**Are you alright?**

“Aren't I always? I'm fine.”

**….....Papyrus.....**

“....I'm fine.”

 


	2. Alone, Together

Sometimes, Papyrus could understand Sans's fatalistic approach to life. The desire to just go to sleep and not get out of bed. Going on autopilot with a smile permanently attached to his face. The secret indulgences in bad habits he had to hide to avoid awkward questions. None of it was fun.

Worst of all, he thought, was the solitude.

It was one thing to go to Swap in order to talk to someone about all of this, but nothing compared to the camaraderie of his own brother.

He could scarcely remember all those resets ago, when he and Sans had a true bond of understanding, when he bared his entire soul and felt a burden as heavy as the world be lifted from his shoulders. When everything, he thought, would be alright.

And then the reset happened, and the bond he had with his brother was ripped away from him, leaving him alone again.

Another day.

Another timeline where his brother remembered nothing but his own script.

And Papyrus could barely stand it anymore.

As soon as Sans crashed to sleep, Papyrus shut himself in his room and thought of nothing but the bond he had with his brother, of that one timeline that changed everything irreparably.

The result was....

…interesting.

Papyrus leaned against the wall, his skull making a soft clunk against the metal plating. He hated thinking too much about what he had lost; THINKING did nothing for him with this particular issue, but there was nothing more he could do. He was tired of explaining the same thing on wiped timelines and having his bond ripped from him time and time again, and he was tired of the timelines when Sans DID remember and he could only fret and worry about what the NEXT one had in store.

The soft impact of something rolling into his boot brought him out of his thoughts momentarily as he looked down and saw a worn, frayed tennis ball resting by his foot. His smile twitched as he picked it up and gently rolled it out into the room.

The ball rolled into a soft mass without a sound, a misshapen hand reaching out and picking it up, passing it back and forth between another, smaller hand just as deformed. There was a hesitant silence from them, almost thoughtful before speaking.

_**A̴R͘e͢ ͝you ņOT͞ ҉F͘eel͟i̛N͟G̸ ͢Wel͝L?** _ The tone was full of concern and confusion.  _**t͡h͞Is͘ ͏AL͘W̶a͡y͢s̕ ̶Se̸emS ҉T͘O̢ M͡a̸k̨e ̡t͏h̨E D͡O͝GS ̷F҉Eel ҉be͜ţt͟ER** _

Papyrus rubbed his face, forcing a more convincing smile. “It's nothing, friend,” he replied. “Really.” He lowered his eyelights to his hands. “...really.”

There was another silence before a subtle sound of shuffling moving forward made him look up, a mere two feet away from...well, them.

The first time seeing Them had been an almost nauseating shock; it wasn't everyday one saw themselves a half-melted, twisted mass of organic matter fused with one's brother, but that day was a few visits ago and a shock that nearly sent him into a panic attack before he finally calmed himself to understand what was going on.

…....alright, well he HAD fainted at the sight before being licked (slobbered on) by the Endogyny. THIS one, at least, he was used to, and he had even prayed that he had simply mistook Endogyny for...whatever that was.

But he hadn't.

They were huddled back in a corner, managing to convey despair and regret even from their misshapen faces, enough so that Papyrus couldn't help but fight down his panic and feel it instead be replaced with pity. After some thought, he was sure it was a surprise to Them as well, seeing him there.

It took a few tries from both parties before Papyrus found himself seated in front of Them, taking another, better look.

It was still unpleasant to look at, but fascinating at the same time. This universe's Papyrus and Sans were fused together like the other Amalgamates, their bone matter turned to something not quite solid but not quite liquid either, melted and adhered until most of Them was nothing more than a goopy mass. What remained semi-solid were the upper half of Their torsos and skulls, as well as an arm and hand on each side that was, for the most part, always clinging to the other.

They were sad to look at, was Papyrus's final thought on the matter. It was sad. There was nothing good that happened to have Them come together like this. But he decided to stave off his own feelings about Them and reintroduce himself to Them, giving an explanation as to who he was and how he was there.

It was a much better icebreaker. They seemed very interested in his story, and as a quid pro quo, told him Theirs.

It wasn't much different than the origins of the Amalgamates in his own universe; Dr. Alphys was tasked with Determination study, and asked for those who had fallen down. Monsters fell down for a number of reasons; age, injury, loss of Hope, or illness. In this universe, Papyrus fell into the last category.

Monsters rarely got sick, but time in the Underground gave way to a development of different illnesses Monsters could get, one of which being something close to what humans would call 'cancer'. This Papyrus had hidden being unwell for months, until he had collapsed on his walk to his post with his brother. And he hadn't gotten back up.

Sans had been desperate, enough so that he would entrust his baby brother to his former colleague Alphys in a completely experimental Determination process after it was determined that Papyrus indeed had something that couldn't be cured. And so the Skeleton had been injected with pure strains of Determination like clockwork every week along with the other Monsters.

And after a month of injections, Papyrus woke up.

The joy and hope of the brothers had quickly turned to panic and horror when Papyrus began experiencing terrible symptoms of magic destabilization. Just hours after awakening, Papyrus began to violently vomit magic and marrow and convulsing uncontrollably on the floor of his examination room. Sans was screaming for Alphys, holding his brother tightly, and fighting like mad to use his own magic to stabilize Papyrus's.

It was a terrifying ordeal. The lab was deafening with the sound of melting, breaking, suffering Monsters screaming and howling in pain and fear, Alphys having a nervous breakdown in between running from room to room, and Sans's sobs mingling with Papyrus's wails.

And as Papyrus vomited, panicked, and cried, he began to melt. His bones softened and drooped, his grip on Sans slackening as he could no longer hold on.

But Sans held on.

He held on as Papyrus's convulsing began to ebb away into drooping. He held on as Papyrus's vomit and marrow drenched him and seeped into his own bones. He held on as he fed as much of his own magic as he could, feeling his HP dip into the decimals, the negative digits. He grasped Papyrus's gelatinous hand in his own, promising with every fiber of his being that Papyrus would be okay, would never be alone, that the pain would end.

And it did.

The emotion and agony of them both melded into Hope and love, the comfort they provided for the other blocking out anything and everything else. Their minds, their bodies, and their souls combined, and the pain vanished. The panic vanished. The disintegration process stopped.

When Alphys finally made her way to Their room, she found a melded mass huddled in a nest of blankets as They dozed peacefully. The Amalgamate had two distinguishable hands that were firmly grasped together like it would take nothing less than the end of the world to unclasp, the rest of Their two halves merged grotesquely, but oddly enough looking as natural as could be.

Papyrus found it difficult to communicate with Them at first; their general physical speech was impeded by mouthfuls of vomit-like magic residue, and Papyrus's method of communicating by thought with his alternate selves didn't come naturally here. The minds of both Sans and Papyrus were merged together, the consciousness as one with two separate viewpoints that made any form of mental communication confusing and impossible to decipher.

Finally, though, both parties settled on a dialect of Hands to communicate. The Amalgamate simply sounded like two voices and tones speaking at once, and Papyrus simply replied in kind of his own dialect of Hands as a courtesy to Them. He learned of Their story, of how They lived down in this lab now rather than facing the other Monsters in the Underground. Only Alphys and the other Amalgamates could understand how they were the way they were without being looked at with fear.

Papyrus knew that it was mostly Sans's worry that came to the conclusion to live in the lab, so as to avoid an upsetting of his other half. The other Papyrus of the Amalgamate form seemed happy enough to be here. The other Amalgamates were Their friends, and They were never at loss for company with each other always by Their side. Why would They ever need to leave?

He observed for some time how They lived and functioned; unlike the other Amalgamates that seemed to shift and settle on an entirely new form with the fusion of their souls and magically-constructed bodies, They simply seemed to be like two wax statues melted together into one, not needing another form to take the place of what They once had. Although They functioned as a single being for the most part, Papyrus saw the separate personalities surface depending on the situation.

The first time he came here and saw Them, even after regaining consciousness, his reaction of repulsion seemed to send the Papyrus side of Them into a fit up upset, with the Sans half shifting up and over to cover and comfort the other half protectively.

Sometimes during conversation, there came a joke or a quip that was most definitely more of a Sans influence, and the Papyrus half would let out a garbled screech before drooping in almost resignation before returning to the conversation.

They would read stories to each other, each half settling down quietly in a peaceful little pile, a small misshapen hand appearing out of the mass and petting lightly over the Papyrus half in a gentle lulling gesture.

At one point, Papyrus asked if they ever considered separating. They went silent, Their clasped hands tightening together and drawing closer to Their fused body before answering.

Alphys tried to make a solution for Them to better stabilize Their form into something more manageable. After it was administered, however, something went wrong. Their two halves suddenly separated and They described it as being physically torn in two, in every way one could be torn apart.

_**i͘t w̶AS LIk̢e gOING͡ B͠lin̛D,̵ d̨EAf͘,̴ an̷D͏ ̨N̴UmB͞ AT ͠ThE͢ S͟aME T͝Im͡e͘** _ They told him. They had gone from being each other's world to simply being nothing but alone. Solitude, They said, in the worst possible way. They spent what felt like an eternity groping around in a puddle of their own melted bone and marrow before finally finding each other again, holding on even tighter than ever. No other attempt to stabilize was made.

It took a long time for Them to feel comfortable doing things with Their hands unclasped, such as picking up things, reading books, or working on puzzles, when They were certain They wouldn't be torn apart again if They let go.

All and all, They were happy here, simply because They had each other. Their fates in this world were tied together because of what happened, and They would never again be without the other.

It sort of....hurt, when Papyrus thought about it, his own situation especially considering. Strange, how he found himself envying the pitiful Amalgamate

...so very strange.

Papyrus snapped out of his thoughts when he felt hands on his own, looking down to see the Amalgamate had a different hand each on his own. The misshapen eye sockets were drooped with concern towards him, a concern that was most definitely Sans-esque in nature.

_**i̕t ͢w͠iLL ̸Be͠ ơK͘a͠y͝** _ They said, squeezing his hands lightly with Their own. Papyrus lowered his eyelights to his hands, his eye sockets dampening softly.

_ TH͞AN͡K ̨YO͢U, F͘R̷I҉END̵.̧  _ he replied. He drew his hands back, picking up the tennis ball.  _ TḨI̕S ̕DOE̶S M̴A͞KE ME ͠FEEL BETT͢E̢R̴.  _

The Amalgamate made a gurgling purring sound of contentment before shifting away to play, and Papyrus set to rolling the ball to Them. 

He didn't feel any better.

But he was okay.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Bromalgamate AU originated with moofrog and sushinfood on tumblr.


	3. A Royal Pain

Papyrus felt the fatalistic rock settle in his chest the moment he returned back to his own universe, and zero change had occurred. Sans was due to wake up soon, and Papyrus didn't want to have to break the script and have his hand forced in explaining everything. Again.

Almost selfishly, he wished to abandon the timeline to just go elsewhere until it ended, like a vacation.

…......a vacation.

What a morbid joke.

But not as morbid as the idea of abandoning anything.

The situation wasn't ideal; none of this was. But giving up wasn't an option. Sans had been at this for gods-only-knew how much longer than he had, and still his brother faced the timelines again and again. He could only expect the worst and hope for the best.

He flopped back onto his bed, staring up at the darkness of his ceiling that flickered with the shadows cast by the lights outside his window. The soft colors were soothing, reminding him of the times before when he would lie back on his designated sleep days and wait for Sans to read him a story.

Now? No amount of storytelling or ceiling-staring could make him sleep. He couldn't even remember the last time he really slept other than 'waking up' in a new timeline. He was too tired to sleep.

He heaved a sigh, turning on his side and hugging his pillow to him, hoping that it wasn't one that would take all that long.

* * *

 

If there was one timeline he hated more than the ones of his death, it was the ones where he was King.

He wasn't King because he was qualified for it; it was process of elimination and the level of power. His cheerful demeanor was a must for how demoralized the kingdom hada become, even if his own demoralization was a factor. But he was a good enough actor who still cared more than anything about those who remained in the Underground.

It being a glitched timeline, he had to once again hear Sans's explanation of his dead friends as being on 'vacation'. He had to accept it with a smile, even though he was breaking inside and wanting to mourn like a normal person.

Most of his days of this particular brand of timeline, he was stuck in the throne room awaiting another grievance meeting and having to play the fool to keep up appearances. He would honestly love nothing more than to provide REAL solutions to the problems, but with Alphys having dusted herself and Sans doing the finer details of the monarchy work there wasn't much he could do about Monsters falling down left and right, let alone keeping morale up in the kingdom.

The one and only comfort in this timeline was the fact that it never lasted long enough for him to see the entirety of his race fall down and dust before him. He didn't think he could take it, especially seeing Sans....

Papyrus's head dropped back against the cushion of the throne, a hand passing over his eye sockets as though attempting to manually wipe the idea of his brother dusting out of his skull. That was the last thing he wanted to think about. It was the last thing he NEEDED to think about.

The valet opened the throne room doors, announcing the first of his subjects had arrived. Papyrus sat up straight, put on a smile, and nodded.

Show time.

* * *

 

 

Papyrus shut his bedroom door and slumped back against them for a moment, feeling the rush of relief at finally—FINALLY—being able to let his smile drop.

Another day.

Another few dozen Monsters falling down.

Another stack of papers concerning food and energy shortages.

He sighed, unlatching his cape from his shoulders and letting it drop before reaching up and taking off his crown, letting it fall on top of the purple pile on the floor.

Ridiculous. It was RIDICULOUS that he would be wearing the garb of royalty like the Dreemurr dynasty hadn't mattered just two months ago. He felt overburdened wearing it. He felt wrong wearing ANY of this.

Papyrus methodically tugged off the other pieces of his vestments, letting them stay where they dropped as he made his way to his closet and rummaged around for the outfit he was looking for.

Cargo shorts, a dark blue hoodie, and a pair of sneakers. Perfect.

He tugged them on, smoothing out his hoodie before clearing his thoughts.

And vanishing.

* * *

 

 

He learned long ago that it was best to dress the part here, if anything else than to avoid an awkward conversation. He'd been here enough times to know what Paps's general schedule was to avoid a double-viewing situation.

Still, he took the more discreet route over to the house, glancing around for a moment before knocking.

It only took a few moments for the door to open, and Papyrus's doppleganger only gave him a look of surprise before stepping aside and letting him in. “Hey Rus,” he said, shutting the door behind his guest. “It's been awhile. What's up?”

Papyrus only gave him a helpless look before collapsing on the couch and tugging his hood up. Paps gingerly sat next to him, giving him a comforting pat on the covered skull. “....that bad, huh?” Papyrus nodded under his hand. “Y'need a cigarette?” Another nod, and Paps fished his pack out of his pocket, putting a cigarette between Papyrus's teeth and lighting it up for him. “It's gotta be bad when you can't get your fix back in your own universe.”

Papyrus snorted mirthlessly, taking a hard drag and exhaling before leaning his head back against the couch to stare at the ceiling. “...hard to get a minute alone when you're the King,” he said. Next to him, Paps winced as he lit up his own cigarette.

“Ouch,” he muttered. “Can't say I don't empathize...it's not exactly fun seein' my own bro be King sometimes. You done it before?”

“Yes,” Papyrus replied. “Not as many times as I've died, but...you know...” He closed his eye sockets, sighing. “...sometimes I think I prefer that.”

“Hey.” Paps gave him a firm stare. “Don't think like that. Seriously. Fatalism isn't your style, buddy.” He put a hand on Papyrus's shoulder, squeezing. “You can't give up.”

Papyrus's teeth clenched into the end of his cigarette, threatening to bite the thing in half. He took it out and put it in the ashtray, then buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking hard with barely-contained sobs. “...I want it to stop...!” he whispered hoarsely. “I can't...I CAN'T...!”

“YES, you CAN.” Paps pressed his skull to Papyrus's, keeping his hand firmly on Papyrus's shoulder. “Listen to me...you'll get through this. You'll figure out how to stop it...or how to at least control it. You can't give up if there's a solution to be found.”

He curled his arm around Papyrus's shoulders. “You've got support, Rus. You've got me, and you've got your brother on the timelines where he remembers. That's better than him never remembering, isn't it?”

Papyrus let out a shaky sigh, nodding; it WAS better than having his brother NEVER remember, even if the wound was ripped open every glitched timeline. The timelines where Sans DID remember......they were worth it. They really WERE. “...you're right,” he said weakly. “...they are. I apologize for just barging in here to unload...”

“Hey. I said you could come anytime you needed to, and I MEANT it.” Paps smiled, holding out his pack. “You want some to-go, Your Highness?”

Immature as it was, Papyrus felt good about smashing the couch pillow into Paps's face.

* * *

 

 

“Hey, Papyrus, you got a minute?”

Papyrus looked up from reading through a stack of paperwork, giving Sans a smile. “Of course, brother!” he chirped. “What is it you need?”

Sans rubbed the back of his skull, giving Papyrus an awkward smile. “I don't really need anything,” he replied. “Just...wondered if you wanted anything from Grillby's while I visit the old neighborhood...” He snorted. “All this fancy-shmancy royal cooking isn't my style, y'know?”

Papyrus set the paper he was holding down, thinking for a moment before standing and picking his scarf up from where it was draped over a chair, throwing it around his neck. “Let's go together,” he said.

Sans blinked. “What, really?” he asked. “I mean, havin' the King in Snowdin is kinda a big deal—“

“Snowdin is my home, Sans,” Papyrus said, walking over and taking his brother's hand. “And I've been meaning to see how we can improve the living situation back there anyway. Hearing secondhand can only give me an idea...seeing is much better.” He walked off down the hall, turning and giving Sans a smile. “And besides, I could use a milkshake.”

Sans smiled back, albeit cautiously. “You'll make his whole week with that order, bro,” he said, walking with Papyrus out of the castle.

Papyrus knew he was breaking the script a little here; but after a certain point even parts of this timeline were somewhat unknown, and even if it wasn't, he wouldn't care anyway. He missed Snowdin. He missed his old life. And most of all, he missed his time with Sans.

And if he had to be a King, then he was going to find some way to enjoy it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just letting everyone know, there's going to be a short hiatus here; I'm going on vacation for two weeks and won't have much time to write. But rest assured, October will be a month of fun, including for this fic!


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